Empires
by Morbid DramaQueen10
Summary: In his time, he'd seen many an empire fall - never expecting his would ever crumble as well. But if anyone could insure the destruction of Raymond Reddington's criminal lifestyle, it would be one Agent Elizabeth Keen.


**Empires**

**In his time, he'd seen many an empire fall-and never expected his could ever crumble as well. **

**As of late I've been quite enchanted with this show. Despite the ambiguity of Red's connection to Liz, I do feel stronger hints of something beyond friendship. I dearly hope this doesn't bite me in the ass later with something incestuous. **

**Reddington/Liz**

**-XXX-**

In his time, Raymond Reddington has seen many an empire fall – both the traditional kind and those built on crime – and never truly expect his would ever fathom crumbling. However, when he peers into Elizabeth Keen's painfully blue and gracefully tearful eyes, he had no doubt that the day will come. Because, if anything, this young FBI up-and-comer shall surely be the ruin of him.

_"Your future," _Grey had said, with no malice or suggestion.

"Funny, all of these wonderful manuscripts and my favorite thing about this place is still the view from the sofa. I love how the light breaks through the trees…."

Out of the corner of his eye he can see her cup the jar between shaking palms. Calm, he takes a steady sip from his own glass, gazing steadily outside of the window. Oh, how he does love this view. _"There is little in this world as settling as a sunset."_ He affords Lizzie a few moments of privacy as he revels in the splendor of nature's light show. Drinking in the golden light, it feels like a temporary redemption.

That is, until Lizzie speaks.

"I don't even know why I am here."

He feels her sink into the cushions, her eyes cast to the sun – as though she, too, is seeking something like grace.

She doesn't cry. He's not sure if he is grateful of this or not. On one hand, to comfort a vulnerable Keen would be just the leg up he's been looking for. On the other, it aches to see her so pained. _"A necessarily evil," _he reminds himself. As most evils are, in Red's world.

When she sniffs, he's drawn closer to her. Her tears nearly saturated the air, but she still refuses to truly cry. One hand goes to her knee; thumb tracing small circles through the silken fabric. He feels muscles tense briefly before relaxing beneath the touch. Lizzie keeps her hands folded around the misty liquid, staring past Red into the light he so love. They do not speak for a long time.

"I wish I could tell you that it's all circumstance, Lizzie, a coincidence. But in good faith, I can't," he starts quietly.

"I know," she replies. Her eyes never leave the window.

He drags his away, trailing them over her weary form. Doubtless, she cried on the way over. Those blue eyes – typically so fierce, so alive – are glassy and red-rimmed. Her mascara has clotted in the corners, the charcoal liner on her waterline runs ever-so-slightly. That strong chin quivers lightly. His hand captures one of hers to feel for a pulse fluttering lightly just beneath the surface of thin wrists. Like a butterfly alight on a tender flower. He's never been one entirely for showy poetics – satire is more his style – but Lizzie has a way of bringing out the worst in him. Though, its usually for the best.

"What will you do now?"

"I –" Her voice catches. Red gives her hand an encouraging squeeze. Lizzie lowers her eyes from the sunset to the glass of mysterious milky fluid. In one swallow, she downs the remainder of the jar's contents.

"I don't know," she says softly. "He's been calling me all day, texting…he says we need to talk. I – I think it's about the baby." Here she pauses briefly to look at him from beneath her lashes, trying to gage his approximate knowledge of her adoption plans. Naturally, he's quite informed on all of her efforts towards motherhood, but he does not speak, instead squeezing lightly again upon her palm. "I've been so caught up in work lately I've missed all of the appointments and interviews. He could be ready to back out on me –"

" - And he could also be prepared to confront you about your recent discovery beneath your dining room set," Red finishes.

The young woman before him bows her head miserably.

For a moment he is taken by the urge to gather her into his arms, create a safe haven away from this cynical world of crime and mistrust that she unknowingly thrust herself into, the kingdom that he so rules with little regard for people _like her. _He wants to make her forget about Tom, about the box beneath her dining room, about the fire, about her father and the FBI and the ones she couldn't save and all of the things weighing down her mind. Red wishes to rid her of all thoughts except that which is good – knowing that this would exclude himself.

She is far, far too good for him. And yet, this knowledge does not prevent him from his ruthless pursuit. It's funny, really, that the thing he should be so eager to go after would be the wide-eyed highly moral novice federal agent. Not what he might've originally pegged himself, but perhaps, in a more abstract way, it makes sense. She is everything he works against, in theory; yet her overwhelming compassion and capacity for trust it everything he could wish for in an ideal world. A world where men like him no longer exist.

Red's hands tremor against her flesh for a moment, and he prays she does not notice.

"I don't know what to do," she whispers.

There are a thousand things he can tell her, the foremost in his mind being _"leave him, leave him," _but Raymond remains silent for the time being.

"How do I…deal with this? How do I ask my husband if he's a murderer?" She's staring into the empty jar, past the jar, past everything. Her gaze slowly tilts up to gaze at the bookshelves that line the wall opposite. While her words were telling, the silences said so much more. The lines between the lines stood out to him the most. _"I feel so alone."_

There're more alike than she'd ever want to truly admit. _"I don't even know why I'm here." _He knows. They share a sense of isolation. After this, after what she'll find about Tom, will Lizzie ever be able to trust again? To hold someone closer than arm's length? He was, after all, the first person she's let past her defenses. Unsurprising she'd be reluctant to even do that, considering her childhood. Red winced at the thought. Despite the consistent betrayal she's encountered throughout her life, Lizzie has been impossibly persistent in seeing good in people, even if she's determined to keep her distance.

"You will deal with this," he says finally. "Whatever you decide to do, Lizzie, I know you will resolve this. Even if it means coming to terms with something…you would rather avoid."

Somehow, it reassures her. Her shoulders fall in a sigh. For the first time, her hand squeezes back. They sit in silence for sometime, Red refilling both of their glasses. When the sun has crested the horizon, sending out long dark shadow, casting a yellowy hue about all that it touches, she shifts and he knows that she is ready to leave. Liz stands with a soft word – _"Tom_." Knowing that it is explanation enough. Reddington follows – as he is wont to do, he thinks dryly – walking her to the edge of the stairs.

Before she descends, Liz turns back. Uncertainty still dominates those dark blue orbs. Red waits.

Hesitant, she leans forward. Just inches from him Liz takes pause. _"Lizzie…"_ Red holds his breath, though he gives no indication of his nervousness. _"Surely not." _But she does precisely what he anticipates. Liz presses a light kiss against his cheek. One hand lies against his chest – undoubtedly able to feel the leap his heart makes. All of him hums. _"Lizzie Lizzie Lizzie Lizzie Lizzie…."_

He's dreamed of many things over the last twenty years. Only recently had he any desire for the young agent. Regardless, the brief moment of contact is more than enough to persuade him it's beyond he what could hope for – a firework when he'd dreamt of a tea light candle.

She pulls back slowly. Dark eyes flicker up to meet his, worry shielded within the starry depths. Red resigns himself to simply gazing back impassively.

"Thank you," she managed softly.

His hand rises to meet hers, pressing into his chest, turning it so that their fingers intertwine. With great delicacy, his thumb traces gentle circles into her palm.

"Anytime, Lizzie," he replies, stepping back.

She lets their hands fall. A final glance, then she's down the stairs, out the door, across the drive, in the car, and heading home. To her dreams of a family. To her excitable dog. To Tom.

When the final reverberations of gravel against tire fade, Red slips back into the parlor, resuming his position on the sofa, pouring himself another jar's worth of the mysterious misty alcohol.

She's dangerous. He'd heard it from Grey, Luli, Dembe, from anyone who remotely cared for this well-being (that number is a remarkably small one, though it can't be said he's not made efforts towards keeping it low). She will ultimately destroy his kingdom all that he has built. Lizzie Keen is, simply put, bad news for business. She shall topple his empire. He knows this.

A slip of a smile on cutting into his features, Raymond Reddington takes a long draft of his glass, settling further into the couch, plucking a tome from a nearby pile. Yes, his Lizzie would most certainly stir up further trouble in his already complicated existence. She would bring great waves of change to his criminal lifestyle….

"_Let it come." _

**-XXX-**

**This feels relatively incomplete, however, I'm not particularly keen on continuing. I think it's done right about here. As Blacklist has recently caught my interest, however, I'm considering tacking something a little bit longer. But we'll see.**

**Thank you so much for reading. Please take a moment to review!**


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